Shoes
by DaughterOfTerpsichore
Summary: Just before dawn on July 15th, 1899, a maid and aspiring author wrote in her notebook, "Despite what we want and what we feel, sometimes we are forced into our place, our shoes smashed unceremoniously onto our bleeding toes." She wishes for a chance at adventure. Little does she know of the newsies' struggle until a flirtatious thirteen-year-old boy drags her into the middle of it.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! This is my first Newsies fanfic, and I hope you like it! Feel free to comment on whatever you want, suggestions, criticisms, even *gasp* compliments!**

 **Read, favorite, follow, but most importantly, enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. :(**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 **Emma Leona**

 _Poised. Gracious. Charming. I am all I am meant to be, all a young lady of wealth and treasure is ever meant to be. I have everything I will ever need, yet I wish for another life, one where I must work for what I have. This is what starts every story, is it not? A child who fits not into their own shoes but rather has another destiny to fulfill. But what of reality? Despite what we want and what we feel, sometimes we are forced into our place, our shoes smashed unceremoniously onto our bleeding toes. My story is like that of many others in truth, my ankles scarred and heels blistered, soaking the satin of my slippers and their bloodstained pearls._

 _That is what I thought to myself; day after day, night after night, I reminded myself of the harsh reality, that I was not destined to have the adventures I yearned for. Still I dreamed of my fairy tale, of my prince climbing through my bedroom window to whisk me away and change the world. But it was not to be._

 _Until it was._

I closed my worn notebook with a thud, tucking my pencil into the torn binding. It was nearly dawn, and I needed to head to market soon. No more time to write. Goodness, if only I could sleep in for one day… How I wish I had the life I wrote of in my stories. It was funny, really, how I brought to life a girl who wished for my tale while I secretly and desperately desired hers.

"Emma Leona!" my mother hissed urgently into my ear. "Hurry, get up, the sun is going to rise soon!"

I scrambled out of my cot, throwing on my lilac blouse and auburn skirt and tying my wrinkled cream apron around my slender waist. I slipped my leather shoes on, wincing as they pinched my toes. Like the story I wrote in my journal, my own life didn't fit into its given shoes.

The servant's quarters was dark but beginning to brighten in the last few minutes before dawn. After running a comb through my soft curls, I picked up my cap and carefully pinned it on top of my chocolate brown waves.

Scurrying out of the cabin, I quickly glanced at my reflection in the dirty water of our rain barrel. My dirt-streaked tan face stared back at me, melancholy dark eyes gazing back at me. I shook myself. No use pretending to have what wasn't there. I took a deep breath and headed down the back door of the Hamilton mansion.

It was beyond a dark stairwell, the cracked concrete steps of which were placed at odd angles until they reached the wooden door. I grabbed the iron handle and twisted with all my might, slowly pulling open the servant's entrance to the house. The rusted hinges screeched as I finally made my way into the basement.

Dank and cold, the back entrance led into a collection of rooms much like prison cells, small and rough-walled. The cement was tagged, pointed teeth tearing through the soles of my shoes. I made my way towards the stairs, where I tiptoed to the top, hurriedly dashing to the kitchen on the first floor.

The labyrinth of halls and rooms in the Hamilton mansion would have confused many, but I knew it like the back of my hand. I grew up here, my mother and I indentured servants and my father long gone. I had no memory of him nor any idea of where he was now, dead or alive. I still owed years, likely the next decade of my life. My thirteenth birthday was eight days ago, on July seventh, 1899. My mother had scavenged a small meal from the scraps, as always, but she had also snuck a cookie out of the dining hall after dinner. It was risky business, stealing from those who had complete power over us, yet it made that cookie, stale and dusty as it was, taste a thousand times better. And, unfortunately, a million times guiltier.

"Good morning, Frank," I said to the cook. "What do you need from the market today?"

"We're running low on eggs and milk. Also, fresh strawberries would be good. Miss Ivory's-"

"Good God, not Miss Ivory," I muttered.

Frank laughed heartily. He was a large man with kind blue eyes, and he had helped my mother raise me. Despite my father's absence in my childhood, Frank had subconsciously taken his place. "Well, her birthday _is_ in two days, and we'll need the whole staff working."

I sighed. Of course. Always working.

Shaking myself and forcing a smile onto my face, I said, "So milk, eggs, and strawberries?"

He put a hand on my shoulder, handing me a small canvas pouch of coins with his other. "Good girl. Be careful on your way. Watch out for-"

I rolled my eyes. "I _know_ , Frank. I'm always careful."

He smiled, though worry tainted his content expression. "I know."

I smiled back, shrugging his meaty hand off my shoulder. "See you in an hour!" I called, grabbing a basket and rushing out the door.

The market was crowded, as usual. Vendors paraded goods of every type, and I scoured the streets for Charlie, who I normally bought groceries from. I pushed through the crowd, trying to get a better look. Behind me, I heard shouts and the pounding of feet. I groaned in annoyance. _Not the newsies again._

But, of course, it was.

"Paper! Paper! Evening paper!"

"EXTRA EXTRA! Terrified flight from burning inferno! You heard the story right here!"

I rolled my eyes. Newsies. I mean, I had nothing _against_ them; after all, like me, they probably didn't appreciate their given shoes any more than I did. But why did they always have to be so obnoxious?

"Hey, you," a heavy New York accent said behind me, "does you want to buy a-"

His voice faltered as I turned around. Self-consciously, I tucked a lock of long brown curls behind my ear. Strangely, I hoped I looked good. I knew myself to be at least as attractive as any of the other servants at the Hamiltons, but, to be honest, none of them were particularly beautiful. Still, though, at one glance from the newsboy, I immediately felt all of my own imperfections, the blemishes anddirt smudges. It was embarrassingly cliché.

The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. His dark eyes sparkled conspiratorially, and his tan skin, a few shades darker than my lighter complexion, shone. He ran his hand through his hair and smiled lopsidedly. I felt compelled to look away, but I couldn't take my gaze off of him.

"-pape?" The word broke the moment with a resounding thud. I blinked. The boy cleared his throat. "Name's Romeo."

Of course. Of course the boy standing before me would be named Romeo. I smiled to myself. "I'm Emma Leona."

"You's a pretty name for a pretty goil." I rolled my eyes. _Such a flirt._ "Does you like to buy a pape?"

I almost did. I wanted to, certainly, to open the wrinkled canvas pouch and pull out a dime for Romeo. My hand fingered the drawstrings to open it, but I forced it out of the pocket in my apron. Frank would know if I stole the Hamiltons' money. I couldn't do it. I couldn't steal.

I shook my head slowly. Then, stilling myself, I whispered, "I'm sorry." The words felt so heavy to me. Two little words, said so often but seldom truly meant. I doubt that anyone had ever said more in those two words than I had just now.

He smiled, reaching out to grasp the hand still lingered near my pocket. "It's alright."

His hand was warm, and it made me uncomfortably shivery. Unlike my long, slender fingers, his were rough and calloused. I glanced down at our hands then back up at Romeo.

Although I did like him, I had a job to get done. And I would _not_ allow myself to become this wishy-washy over a boy I just met. I tugged my hand from his grip and stood a bit taller. "Please excuse me, I have groceries I need to buy."

Romeo took a step back. "Me apologies, miss."

I nodded. "Will I see you again tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss ya for the world." He winked at me.

I giggled and shook my head. "See you, then." And I dashed off to find Charlie.

 **Romeo**

 _Emma Leona. Emma Leona. Emma Leona._ The name rocked gently back and forth in my mind, rolling and pulsing like small waves on the beach. Why couldn't I get her out of my head? There were plenty of beautiful girls in New York, so why her?

I must say, I did like liking her. Does that make sense? I'd never really felt this way about a girl before.

"Eh!" called my brother, Race, as I bumped into him. "Watch out!"

"Me apologies," I said, but my mind wasn't really there. Race and I weren't related, but we had declared ourselves brothers years ago. _I sure hope Emma Leona ain't older than I is._

I shook my head in annoyance. _Stop it, Romeo, you's a job to do._

I focused on the people in the market. "Extra! Extra!" I called. "Police attack striking trolley workers!"

No one cared.

I didn't really expect anyone to notice. I was just feeling too out of it to come up with a good story. My stupid brain felt as if it were moving through thick and gooey mud.

That's when I heard the scream.

It had a sort of echoey feel to it; it was from rather far away. I started running towards it, instinctively weaving my way through the crowds and down the streets.

The worst part was that I recognized the scream. It was _her_.

I couldn't tell what she was saying, but her voice was rising in pitch, panic and fear mixing together, harmonizing and combining in terrible ways. There was another voice too, a deeper and darker one, with intense, harsh words. "Emma Leona!" I called out, running faster.

"Help!" I heard from an alley.

A large man, easily six feet tall, towered over her. He wore an apron stained with blood and carried a butcher's knife in his right hand. Emma Leona trembled violently. She hadn't seen me yet, and neither had the man. I was not particularly eager for him to notice me.

"I didn't steal the meat, I swear," Emma Leona gasped.

The man growled in response, and he lifted the knife to swing. He let out a grunt from the effort. Emma Leona screamed. I ran towards them.

I shoved Emma Leona out of the way just in time to avoid the knife. It landed on me instead.

My calf muscle stung in agony. I was lucky; the gash wasn't deep enough to cause permanent damage, though it hurt like heck. I gritted my teeth. To Emma Leona, who had fallen to the ground, I said, "Come on! I know a place we can go!" Fighting the pain in my leg, I raced towards her, scooping her back onto her feet. I could feel blood dripping into my boots. _Dang it. Those were my favorite shoes_.

Emma Leona and I ran. The burning in my leg only became more and more intense. We could hear the shouts of the man behind us, but he was too heavy to be fast enough to catch us. We darted down streets and alleys, pushing through throngs of people. Finally, we arrived.

"Where are we?" Emma Leona asked me, staring deep into my eyes.

Once again, the sight of her stuck me dumb. She was easily the most enticing girl I'd ever met, her long, gentle curls of dark brown hair, thoughtful chocolate eyes, and cute smile that tugged at her lips like strings on a puppet. She was so beautiful.

"Romeo?" The sound of my name broke into my thoughts. "Whaddaya think ya doin'? Who's the goil?" It was Race.

"Her name's Emma Leona. Saved her from an angry butcher."

"Ah." He turned to Emma Leona. "Welcome to our home. The name's Race." He spit into his hand stuck it out for her to shake. She squeaked in alarm and jumped backwards. "Oh. Sorry." He wiped his hand on his pants and reached out again. She took his hand reluctantly and shook it. "Are ya here to stay or what?"

Emma Leona looked at me questioningly. I asked her, "Ya wanna stay?" _Please say yes, please say yes._

Her eyes were sad as she said, "Yes, thank you."

I was rather taken aback. "What's wrong?"

"I can't go back. The man would have reported me to the police for stealing. I didn't, I could never, but I can't go back home. They know I work there. My mom and Frank will never know what happened to me." She began to cry.

She was a really cute crier.

I put my arm around her shoulders, and she didn't shrug it off. Race, realizing that this was a private moment, left, headed into the creaky building before us.

"Look at me," I said. Obediently, she looked up, eyes bleary and nose red. "I didn't want to be here either. You'll be okay, I promise."

"You dropped the accent," she said.

Confused, I replied, "What?"

"Your newsboy accent. You lost it."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I did."

Pulling herself together, she stood a little taller, straightening her back and wiping her eyes. "Let's do this. I'm ready to be a newsie."

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 **Hello again! What did you think? Once again, reviews, favorites, and follows are always appreciated, and thank you for reading! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi everyone! The reviews I got for the first chapter were so encouraging that I decided to post again today. Thank you to K. Kelly, S. Castro, biankies, theater104, and FansieFace for your comments! Sorry, no Romeo today. He starts out the next chapter, though! Review, favorite, and follow! Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies (sadly) or Peter Pan (just cuz I mention them early on)**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Emma Leona**

 _It was a dark night when my window creaked open. I woke suddenly in alarm, looking out the open glass. A shadow climbed in, sitting on the windowsill. Strangely, I thought of Peter Pan and Wendy in their story. I thought of magic and faeries, of mermaids and pirates. But it was never true._

 _The shadow whispered to me, and a cold wave of fear tickled my fingers. It was nearly high tide._

I placed my journal and pencil, which had been tucked in the pocket of my apron, under my bed. In search of inspiration, I watched the boys who had given me a home without a second thought. In the light of the moon, the newsies looked like small children, asleep in their scratchy cots. Their faces, so seemingly innocent, appeared untouched by the harsh cruelty of the real world. That couldn't have been farther from the truth. The world had been undeservedly vicious towards the fifteen-or-so Manhattan newsboys.

Yes, they were still annoying, and their accents were still difficult to understand, and their self-importance still bothered me. But they had been kind, and at least I could understand where they were coming from. To be honest, I pitied the rich; had I not been in a similar position to the newsies, I was unlikely to ever see the good in them.

I couldn't sleep. The day had been too abrupt and exciting to tire me out enough to sleep. I knew I wouldn't be happy with my decision to remain awake when we reached the morning, but I didn't care. Tomorrow would be a long day, and even if I had to fight to stay awake through it, which I most certainly would, I needed this time to just think.

I closed my eyes, hugging myself through my blouse and skirt, which I still hadn't changed out of. I missed my mother. Where was she now? Did she miss me? Was she worried? Of course she would be; I'd completely vanished to them. I'd completely abandoned them. And what about Frank? He told me to be careful.

 _No,_ I chided myself, _it's not your fault. Don't blame yourself_. But I did. How could I not? If I hadn't gone to the butcher's shop, then I never would have been accused of stealing, and the police never would have gotten my name... and I never would have met the newsies.

 _Or seen Romeo again,_ whispered the irritating voice in my head. _Shut up!_ I told it. He was so beautiful as he slept, like a child. So innocent and trusting... nothing like what years of solitude had hardened him into. But unlike the others I'd met, he wasn't so blocked off from the rest of the world. He was like an open book, to me at least.

He hadn't wanted to be here either.

Where was his home? What had happened so that he'd had to leave? Was it he who was at fault or someone else? Did he miss them? Did his family miss him? I looked at the sleeping boy from my own cot, where I sat. I felt the sudden urge to sit beside him, and I stood, almost floating over the floor, toes barely touching the cold, splintering wood. I knelt by his bed, which was directly under an open window, casting his body in a dim light.

And that's when I smelled blood.

It was metallic in its scent, and I could feel it washing over me, making me gag. Instinctively, I turned towards the tang.

A ragged gash tore across Romeo's calf muscle. I gasped in alarm. Another newsie—I didn't know who—stirred and mumbled something indecipherable, but he rolled over onto his face, letting out a snore.

I had briefly trained as a nurse for the Hamiltons after our old one died from scarlet fever, so I knew how to treat most wounds, thankfully. It was rather simple once you got the hang of it, but there was one problem. Where the heck was I supposed to find clean water in this dump of a house?

 _I should explore the other rooms. I might be able to find something._ I looked around the room. There were two doors, one to the main hall, which remained open, and a windowed one at the back, which was shut. Curious, I walked towards it.

 _This would be a great start to a horror story,_ I couldn't help but think as I grasped the knob. It was brass, and it shone; it had obviously been used many times. Opened the door smoothly, I gaped in wonder at the fire escape. Well, not exactly at the escape itself but rather the view of the streets. I was three stories above the ground, and a tear trickled down my cheek. Why, I was not sure, but I was in a rather emotionally unstable state today. It made me feel sad and happy at the same time, the reason for which I did not know, but more than any other emotion, I felt the desperation to go home. The desire to see my mother and Frank overwhelmed me; for a second I could barely breathe, and another tear rolled down my cheek. And another, and another, and another—

There was a sob from above me. Instantly, I looked up, automatically darting into the shadows, which were abundant in the night under a new moon. I could see nothing but the fire escape, which continued up another level, ending at what I assumed to be the roof. Cautiously, I climbed the metal stairs until I reached the roof.

A newsboy stood across the roof from me, head in his arms. He looked up at the clank of metal against my shoe. His own shoes were torn and ratty, and they looked as if he had tried to make them fit but had little success. Hurriedly, he wiped his eyes and stood a bit taller. "Whatcha doin' up here so late? You'se ought to be asleep."

"I could ask the same of you," I said softly, but the night was silent enough for him to hear me.

"I—" he stammered.

I took a few steps forward, considerably shortening the gap between us; the roof was small. "It's okay," I said. "You can trust me." I didn't expect him to. It was hard to open up to someone you just met. "I'm Emma Leona."

He nodded in recognition. "You's the goil Romeo brought. Race told me 'bout ya." He paused, then said, "I'm Jack. Jack Kelly." I was surprised when he didn't spit into his hand and extend it for me to shake. In my few hours with the newsboys, I had already become accustomed to the spitting and shaking and general disgustingness. I was not eager to participate and had yet to spit into my own hand, but I had gotten used to the newsies' customs.

"It's nice to meet you, Jack Kelly," I said. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine." He turned away, looking out into the night sky, leaning the railing of the roof. I walked next to him and draped my arms over the cold metal railing as well.

We were quiet for a moment before I asked, "Were you always a newsie?"

My question caught him off guard, and he turned to look at me. "What did ya say?"

"Were you always a newsie, Jack Kelly?"

He was silent for a moment. "You'se the first to ask me that in a long time," he said, turning back to the view of New York City.

When it became clear he wasn't going to answer, I asked, "Is it wrong for me to miss home?" I hadn't known what I would say. I was only hoping to make conversation, not to open myself up so much, but since I had asked him about his personal life, I suppose it was only fair for me to talk too. To be honest, I think I probably did need reassurance.

Jack let out a sharp, humorless laugh that seemed to cut through the air like a knife. I flinched. "Wrong for ya to miss ya home? Nah, it's the only thing you'se gonna do for a while, Emma Leona. It's the only thing you'se gonna do for a _long_ while." He laughed again, and it sent shivers up my spine.

I hadn't asked the sort of question that should have provoked such a response, but since it did, I thought about what he'd said. "Jack," I said thoughtfully, "you miss your real home, don't you." It wasn't a question, rather it was an observation.

"This is me real home," he said angrily.

"Jack, tell me the truth. Please. It'll help you, I promise."

He turned and slapped me across the face. In shock, I stumbled backwards and fell to the ground with a cry of pain.

Jack backed away in horror, looking at his hands as if he couldn't believe what he had done. I couldn't believe it either, to be honest. Heart pounding in my chest, I looked at him through narrowed eyes.

I wasn't angry, far from that. I was sad.

Sad is such a small and versatile word. I knew that from writing every morning back at home. It would work in so many ways, and yet it only had one meaning. And it was the purest, most sorrowful meaning of the word that I felt now.

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 **Thanks for reading the whole thing! Please review, favorite, and follow! Also, I really appreciate criticism in abundance, so please, criticize away! Next chapter coming up soon. :-) (Emma Leona sells her first newspapers and gets her newsie name!)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everyone! Sorry for the late update. I uploaded two more stories this week before realizing I'd almost let a week slip by before updating! Hope you enjoy this chapter! It's pretty much a filler chapter. I know I said that Emma Leona was going to get her newsie name and sell some papes, but it didn't make sense here. Sorry about that. So another chapter or two until that!**

 **Thanks to biankies, FansieFace, RealMe07, 1monster2, and worldisyourerster for their amazing reviews!**

 **I also added some information about my experiences with a hair loss disorder (I'm missing virtually all the hair on top of my head) onto my profile. Please check it out!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies :(**

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

 **Romeo**

I opened my eyes groggily and sat up in my cot only to yelp in pain when the gash in my calf reopened. I pulled my socks up farther to hide the wound. I didn't want sympathy, at least until it was time to sell newspapers.

The moon was still out; the sun had yet to rise. Rolling over, I tried to go back to sleep.

I heard a strangled gasp from the roof through the window above my bed. Brow furrowed, I stuck my head out, looking up. Unsurprisingly, I couldn't see anything but wall. Swinging my legs off the cot, I stood and limped to the fire escape entrance, wincing.

The stairs made empty clanging sounds when I put my weight on them. I grimaced as my right leg almost buckled.

What I saw on the roof stunned me.

Jack stood a few feet away from Emma Leona, who had fallen to the ground, hand on her cheek, which had begun to turn red. Her maroon skirt billowed out around her on the roof. "Jack," I asked rather aggressively, "whatcha think ya doin'?"

It was obvious he'd slapped her. I felt tension envelop my body, and I gritted my teeth. Forcing myself to put equal weight on each leg, I slowly walked towards them, glaring at Jack.

"Romeo, calm down. It's okay," Emma Leona said, standing up and brushing off her skirt. "He didn't mean it."

"Emma Leona, you's a bright red hand mark on ya cheek. And you's tellin' me he didn't mean it?"

"He didn't, I promise," she said. "Jack, go wake up the other newsies. It's nearly time to start selling newspapers." Jack hurriedly left the scene.

In the dark corners of my mind, I couldn't help but think, _What could he and Emma Leona have been doing? Alone...at night..._ I shook myself out of it. Emma Leona wouldn't have done that. She had morals.

"Emma Leona…" I said, my voice trailing off. "You's okay?"

"You don't have to use the accent," she said, smiling shyly and taking a step closer to me.

"I knows that," I said, but it was with the accent. "I just..."

Hesitantly, she put her hand on my shoulder, right by my neck. I flinched at first but soon relaxed. I could feel the warmth of her soft hand through the thin shirt. "I understand," she whispered. "Sometimes, any shoe is better than none."

 **Emma Leona**

 _The shadow took me away that night. We boarded his ship in the empty gloom. He hid behind a cloak of shadow and darkness, and I never learned his name._

 _When we were halfway across the sea, the shadow said, "Now, a girl like you shouldn't be this far from home. Do you miss it yet?"_

 _"No," I said. "Never." But I was wrong._

When Romeo was about to leave the rooftop, I remembered something. "Romeo, stop!" I called out.

He turned around, limping. "What?"

"Your leg, silly. You can't honestly think you'll be selling newspapers with that kind of gash. Sit down," I ordered.

He didn't. "Crutchie ain't sittin' out. He sells papes every day. And so can I."

"Who?" I asked.

"You's ain't met Crutchie?" He smiled, then winced as his calf muscle strained.

"Romeo, I'm sorry, but you have to sit down. I don't care if this Crutchie kid can take it or not, but I'm going to get you help." He started to protest, but I interrupted him. "You stay right here until I get back. Understand?"

Romeo sighed in defeat. "You's a stubborn goil, Emma Leona."

I smiled at him gently and hurried down the stairs and back into the room I had slept in.

I knew I had to find someone, but who? I couldn't really ask Jack, and I didn't know any other newsies...except for Race!

"Excuse me," I said, tapping the closest newsie on the shoulder, "do you know where Race is?"

The newsie spun around, startled. His eyes were wide in his thick glasses. "Oh, you's the goil Romeo brought. I'm Specs."

"My name's Emma Leona. Now please, do you know where Race is?"

"Yeah, he's down the hall. First door on the left."

"Thank you, Specs."

I ran down the corridor, stopping at the door he'd referred me to. Knocking, I waited, biting my lip.

"Jus' a minute!" came a rough voice.

Chewing my lip harshly, I wrung my hands, hoping Race would know what to do. The door opened.

A cigar hung from between Race's jaws. He leaned against the door frame. Speaking around the cigar, he said, "Whatcha need?"

"It's Romeo," I said worriedly. "His—"

Race sprung to his feet at my first words. "What's wrong?" He took the cigar out of his mouth and held it between his fingers. "Where's Romeo?"

"Come with me," I said, back down the hall with Race hard on my heels. My heart was pounding, and my feet took to the roof.

Romeo was leaning against the railing, looking out over New York, his calf completely exposed. Race let out a strangled gasp and ran to Romeo. "Romeo, whatcha done to you's self?"

"It's my fault," I said. "He was saving me from an enraged butcher."

As Race glared at me and began to say something, I realized something.

I had always wanted a prince to rescue me, to be protected from the vile spirits of the world. Romeo was far from a prince, yes, but he had saved me. He _saved_ me.

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 **What did you think? Sorry, lame ending, but otherwise it wouldn't make sense for the next few chapters... Also, plot twist alert! Coming up soon... Who is the butcher and what part will he play in Emma Leona's life? Teeheehee! Let me know what you think! There's a friendly little button down there that would make me a happy child... Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm so, so, so, so sorry! I've been completely neglecting my duties as a writer. Gosh, I haven't updated in what, six months? Yikes! Once again, I'm sooooooo sorry! Thankfully, I have an extra special chapter right here for all you lovely readers! It's definitely my favorite so far! You may want to reread the story from the beginning since I haven't updated in forever, and I doubt most of you remember it.**

 **Shoutout to FansieFace, theater104, biankies, truebooknerd, and NewsieGirlScout for their amazing reviews! Luv ya guys! Also, thank you to all favorites and follows! And, most importantly, thank you to you lovely readers!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. Sadly.**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 **Romeo**

I stayed at the lodging house all day. By myself.

There's nothing quite like feeling totally useless.

It was all because of Race and Emma Leona, of course. Race even tied me to a chair before they left, but I escaped the bindings easily as soon as the other newsies were gone. Soon after, I'd clambered up the fire escape to sit on the roof.

In the distance, I could see the other newsies dashing through the streets, inky papers waving in their outstretched hands. I was able to hear the clamor of the roads as shopkeepers and pedestrians alike hollered obscenities at the human traffic. I could even smell the stench of New York. Ah. It was familiar and yet surprisingly indistinct at the same time.

I missed Race. Of course, he'd only been overprotective, not meaning to cause me any additional stress, but I hated it. I hated being alone, being useless, all of it. I felt guilty for missing him, hating what he'd done, too. After all, I would've done the same.

But whom I perhaps missed even more than Race only made me feel more guilty. Our newsie brothers were supposed to come first, before any girl— including Emma Leona. Obviously.

But there was something different about her. Something so special and untouchable and _pure_ that I couldn't fathom _not_ missing her every second of every minute I spent away from her soothing presence.

And then I had a positively brilliant idea.

 **Emma Leona**

I had never worn pants before. And I would never, ever wear them again.

Ugh.

Growing up in the Hamilton household, I'd always worn skirts, blouses, and aprons and tucked my hair under a cap. The newsies had other ideas.

My dark hair, tied in a ponytail at the top of my head, boiled uncomfortably under the heat of New York summers. A quiet Filipino newsie, Finch, had lent me a sweat-stained, dirty blue shirt to wear until I had enough money to buy myself a new one that actually fit. The boys had refused to let me wear my usual lavender blouse, unfortunately. I hated the vest, found under a pile of socks in the basement, almost as much as the repulsive top.

But the pants were by far worse. I swore I would wear a skirt the next day, even if I had to face the infamous Jack Kelly on the matter.

Despite my awkward and ridiculously uncomfortable attire, I felt almost at home selling "papes", as my newfound friends called them. Or at least, I would once I actually _sold_ any.

Sweat stung my eyes as I desperately hollered at oncoming passerby, "Newspapers for sale! Um, striking trolley workers! Get the story now!" Even I cringed at the sound of my words. Not what you'd expect from a writer.

Admittedly, things weren't going as well as I'd hoped.

That was until I heard the music.

A few feet away from me, a lone man on the corner of the street played a scratched, faded violin with fingers calloused and dirty. There was an evident three-foot radius around him in which the stream of people veered away. I bet he smelled awful.

Despite the rather revolting appearance of the man and his violin, the music was flawless, not a note out of place. Each string was perfectly in tune. It was beautiful, something heavenly. It swelled and pulsed, and every moment filled the atmosphere with a newfound warmth and purity. I closed my eyes, and my heart pounded furiously in my chest.

The last time I'd heard something like this, it had been followed with a beating.

I'd worked for Master Hamilton all my life. He and his wife had a habit of throwing parties. Banquets, dinners, tea, you name it. Almost every week Frank and the other cooks would be overwhelmed with work, and Mother and I would serve with the other maids. Although it was a hassle and altogether a massive nightmare, I'd loved it dearly. That is, until I was banned from ever working one again.

It was the annual holiday celebration. I was eleven. Ladies in evening gowns and men in suits, it was quite possibly the most prestigious party without a good fifty miles and for good reason. Every business partner Master Hamilton had ever had was invited, along with their wives and occasionally eldest children. The living room was grand, the Christmas tree adorned with evenly spaced gold and red ornaments and topped with a silvery star embedded with pearls.

The candles blazed beautifully, cast the spacious room in a lively glow. The other maids and I all wore our nicest, carrying trays of refreshments and appetizers for our guests.

And then there was the music.

It was so like today's, dragging my innocent and gullible heart far away from here. I could picture myself, far older and more elegant, wearing a soft pink dress of my own, dancing at a party somewhere far, far away. I began to get carried away, the people and objects around me morphing into my lifelong dream.

I was surrounded by people who adored me. A young girl rushed towards me. "Mother!" she said, clinging to my skirts. "Let's dance!"

"Darling," I would respond," not quite yet."

A faceless man took my arm. "Shall we?" he asked alluringly, and I nodded demurely. And in my dream, I danced. I danced and danced and danced.

And in reality, I dropped my tray of bright red wine. It fell on top of Miss Ivory's billowing cream skirt, where the glasses emptied their contents and clattered to the wooden floor, shattering with the unforgettable sound of breaking glass. The room was rendered silent, all eyes turned to me. Even then, I could pick out the Master Hamilton's blazing glare from the midst of the crowd. He was already drunk.

I started. "Oh my God!" I gasped, immediately bending to gather the shards on the tray. "My apologies, Miss Ivory, I'm so, so sorry." I let out another gasp as I sliced my hand on a piece of glass.

Miss Ivory herself, who had stood in shocked silence until then, exploded with fury. "You imbecile!" she screamed, slapping me hard across the face. I fell to the ground, cutting another slit in my forearm as Miss Ivory continued her relentless tirade. "How _dare_ you?! You dirty, disgusting—" she paused to think of a foul enough word "— _creature_!"

"I'm dreadfully sorry, miss, I—"

"Oh, do shut up!" She hit me again.

"Now, now, Ivory," slurred her father. Master Hamilton. "Hush." Turning to me, I saw the fire in his eyes through the tears in my own. "You. Get downstairs. Now. I'll deal with you later."

Nodding and biting my lip, I hurriedly gathered the rest of the glass onto the tray, ignoring the pinches of pain as blood started to dot my skin. Master Hamilton apologized to the guests, but I couldn't hear a word through the roaring in my ears. Gently placing the tray on a table nearby, I ran, holding back tears, through the halls and down the stairs into the musty basement, where I collapsed in a sobbing mess.

Soon after, Master Hamilton's footsteps thudded down the stairs. Blearily, I looked up to see his silhouette standing over me.

He had a belt.

The next thing I remember was waking up in so much pain that I wished I were dead.

"Eh! Emma Leona!"

A voice cut through my thoughts. Jack Kelly. Instinctively, my hand darted to my cheek before falling back at my side. I'd been slapped more than my fair share of times over the past years of my life.

"Hey, hey, I ain't gonna hurt ya," Jack said, noticing my initial fear. "Ya okay?"

"Yes, yes, of course," I murmured, still lost in memories of belts and blood.

"Hey. Looka me." Jack gently tilted my chin upwards to face him. "I'm real sorry 'bout last night, 'kay? If ya ever need anythin', jus' call for me, alright?" He was telling the truth.

"Of—of course. Thanks," I responded, taken aback. The music sang in the background.

"Now tell me, Emma Leona, wha's wrong? God, your name's long!"

"I know, sorry about that."

"Nothin' to be sorry for. But you's gonna need a nickname soon."

I cringed. "Maybe another time."

"Anyways, really. What's botherin' ya?"

I hesitated, probably for a long time. "It's—it's the music. I…have trouble listening to it." A half-truth.

Jack's brow furrowed. "Wha's the matter with it? I kinda like it."

"Bad memories."

Jack let out a soft laugh. "I get it. Happens t'all of us." He paused, and his tone changed a bit. "Whaddaya think of the music itself, though? Kinda pretty, huh?"

I stopped to listen. To really, really listen. Not to the memories clawing at the inside of my mind and tearing open long-healed wounds but to the music.

I closed my eyes, and before I knew it, I was dancing again. Just like the night in my dreams. But for real. My eyes opened, but I didn't stop. Suddenly, the three-foot radius around the man with the violin—and now me—wasn't enough. I danced and danced and danced.

My heart raced, a smile beginning to touch my face. People on errands turned to watch me and the man with the violin. My eye glanced at my stack of newspapers, long since dropped to the ground.

I'd never felt this way before. I was free, like a bird. I was a ribbon caught on an endless breeze, soaring far, far above anywhere I'd ever been before.

Jack smiled too, and when the music finally died, he put a hand on my shoulder as my audience murmured appreciatively. "Well, Emma Leona," he said, "go sell those papes."

Nodding a thank you, I picked up my newspapers. One by one, they all disappeared to the people who had watched me dance. I stuffed the coins into a pocket in my pants.

"Emma Leona!" Jack called out again. "I think ya got yourself a nickname."

"What is it?" I humored him, grinning.

"Rhythm."

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	5. Chapter 5

**Hi, all! You have no idea how sorry I am. I know, I know, I'm one of those annoying unreliable authors who promises to post and never does. So this time, I'm not going to promise any chapters just in case you don't get any. With any luck, I'll be able to carve out time over the next couple of weeks (months?) and post** **more.** **I've been going through a bit of a rough patch in my life... Anyways, there's a whole lot of dialogue in this chapter, and the one after should be pretty interesting. You'll see why near the end of this chapter. Thank you all for reading! I love you guys!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own newsies.**

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 **Chapter Five**

 **Emma Leona**

 _The boy and I sailed on forever, hours fading into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. He was a beautiful boy; we sailed a beautiful boat in a beautiful sea, an endless ocean of rippling and pulsing blue waves glinting in perpetual starlight. We hardly spoke, but with every movement, every touch, every glance into each other's eyes, I fell farther and farther under his spell. And every day, I wondered where he would lead me. A castle? An island? Paradise? Wherever he would venture, I knew I would follow._

 _I still had yet to learn his name. He had yet to learn mine. Our relationship was silence as pure as glass, both of us equally terrified of speaking and shattering it. Secretly, I wished for him to talk to me again. His voice was a songbird, light and mystical and free. Everything I'd ever wished to be._

 _And one day, he finally spoke again. The rhythm of his voice was beautiful._

I tucked my notebook back under my cot. Unable to sleep, I'd once again woken in the wee hours of the morning, long before the sun would rise. It had long been a trend in my life, falling asleep late and waking early.

Would Jack be on the roof again? I longed to talk to him again.

Tiptoeing from my makeshift bed, I spared a wistful glance at Romeo before disappearing up the fire escape once again. He'd been visibly upset to find he was the last to learn my new nickname. Romeo and I hadn't spoken since and not for lack of effort on my part.

Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling of irrational guilt, I leapt softly up the fire escape to the roof. My fingers clutched at my skirt, careful not to let it trip me. I wouldn't want to fall from such a height.

Jack was alone again, leaning forward against the metal railing. Skirt billowing, I flew over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. Jack spun, eyes wild until catching sight of me. "Hey," I said, smiling slightly.

"Hey ya'self," he responded. "First day sellin' papes. Wha'd ya think?"

"It was definitely...interesting."

He laughed shortly. Jack did that a lot. "Ya can say that again."

I hesitated. "Jack...can I ask something? I know I was totally out of line yesterday..."

"Shoot, Rhythm. And it wasn't you who was outta line."

"Why don't you have a nickname? Or...is Jack your nickname?"

His eyes were beautiful. He was a beautiful boy. And a beautiful older brother to a little girl like me.

He paused. "Well, Rhythm, as ya may've noticed, a lot of us newsies 'round here 've got nicknames."

I grinned. "Yeah."

Jack nodded. "So mosta us got names from somethin' we did or somethin' we do or somethin' we got. Like, Rhythm's ya nickname 'cause ya dance, right?"

"Right."

"And Crutchie's nickname's Crutchie 'cause he's got a crutch, right?"

"I gathered. Still don't actually know him."

"Well, anyways, it is. And Finch is Finch 'cause he runs like the wind, and Buttons is Buttons 'cause on his first day he pulled all the buttons off his new shirt by accident. And Specs is Specs 'cause of them spectacles, right?"

"Okay, I get what you mean."

Jack smirked evilly and put an arm around my shoulders. "And Romeo's Romeo 'cause all ya goils love 'im."

I shoved him off jokingly, cheeks heating uncomfortable. "Jack!"

"Sorry, had to. Ya can't deny it, though. Boy's totally inta ya. And vice versa."

I rolled my eyes. "We'll discuss that later." Later, by which I meant never. "But what does this have to do with _your_ nickname, Jack?"

Jack sighed resignedly. "I guess...I dunno. Go bother someone else." He ruffled my hair.

"Jack!"

"Again, sorry, I had ta. You're cute. Remind me of someone."

I swallowed. It wasn't the first time I'd heard something like that. "Come on, talk to me. I know you're thinking about something."

"Yeah, I'm thinkin'. I'm thinkin' real hard."

"About what, Jack?"

After a long pause, he finally answered. "I think it's 'cause I've never really done anythin'. And I never do anythin'. And I don't think I have anythin' special."

"Jack, that's not it, and you know it."

"Ah, ya don't understand them newsies like I do, Rhythm. We get our names for reasons, and I sure haven't gotten mine."

"Then you need a nickname, Jack. I'd offer to come up with one myself, but I'm awful at it."

"Nah, I don't need one. Thanks though, Rhythm."

I thought for a second. "Maybe Jack _is_ your nickname."

"My real name's Jack Kelly."

"Yeah, but Jack, it's like a jack of all trades, or a jack from a card deck. Would you be a jack of spades, hearts, diamonds, or clubs?"

"Eh, I dunno. I'd much rather have meself an ace than a jack, though."

I laughed. "Well, Jack, is an ace at the top or bottom of the deck?"

"Top."

"But it can go either way, can't it?"

"I s'pose."

"Well, Jack, you're the _king_ of the newsies." We both grinned.

"S'pose I am." With a sigh, he leaned against the railing again. I joined him.

Minutes passed. The sun would rise soon; the horizon was beginning to glow a faint russet color, the buildings silhouetted against the sky.

"The skyline is beautiful at dawn, isn't it?" I asked softly.

"Yeah, it is. Nothin' quite like New York at sunrise."

"Yeah." Another few minutes passed. "Jack, is Romeo mad at me?"

"Mad at you? 'Course 'e is. Gonna stay that way? Nah."

"He's avoiding me."

"Once again, 'course 'e is."

"Should I talk to him?"

Jack thought for a second. "Probably."

"Okay. Thanks, Jack."

"Anytime, Rhythm."

Wordlessly, I left, descending the fire escape with my skirt trailing after me. What would I say? Would I have to wake him from a potentially peaceful slumber? How would I even start such a conversation?

Having slipped through the windowed door, I carefully shut it, silently twisting the brass handle until the door clicked. My eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness.

"Hey." A hand touched my shoulder.

I jumped with a quiet yelp. "Romeo?"

His eyes were downcast, eyelashes casting long shadows over his cheeks. "Sorry to startle ya. Can we...can we talk?"

"Um, yeah, of course."

Winding our way through the bunks of sweaty teenage boys, we finally escaped into the hall. Romeo led me down a staircase until we were on the street-level floor, where we halted.

"Emma Leona—Rhythm, I mean—I jus' wanted to apologize for avoidin' ya. Jus' had a real bad day." He squirmed a little. It was easy to remember how young he'd seemed when I'd first met him. His eyes flicked up to meet my face before dropping to the ground again. He seemed thoroughly ashamed of himself.

"Hey," I said softly, "it's okay. We're fine." He flinched at the word _we_. "I mean, we're still friends." I lamely amended.

He nodded, cleared his throat, and agreed, "Yeah. Um, I wanted to ask, uh, how old're ya, Emma Leona?" He swallowed and furiously spoke. "I—I mean, uh, ya don' have to answer if ya don' wanna—I shouldn't've said that—"

"No, no, it's fine," I said with a smile. "It's okay. I'm thirteen. My birthday's July seventh."

Romeo heaved a comical sigh of relief. "Oh, good, I'm older 'n ya."

I laughed uncomfortably, slightly irritated by the stereotype, but I ignored it, instead smiling gently. "I'm glad that makes you happy."

"So, uh, we're okay, right?" _We._

"Yes. Of course."

"Good." Romeo smiled at me. I returned the action, heart giving a little flutter. Then, abruptly, his expression darkened. He started to speak, then closed his mouth, started again. After a pause, he seemed to steel himself. "Emma Leona, there's a reason there ain't ever been any girl newsies before."

"Oh? Why?"

He hesitated. "It ain't a pretty story, Em—" I winced at the nickname "—an' I dunno if I should be tellin' ya."

"Romeo, tell me. Please."

"Em…"

"Romeo."

"Em, I really should. I really, really should. Ya ain't safe here. No one is, but 'specially ya."

"Why not, Romeo? I'm not afraid. Please, tell me. I can handle it."

"I know, I know." He wrung his hands together. "Em…"

I looked him in the eye, turning my gaze to flint. "Romeo. Tell me right now."

He swallowed. "Emma Leona, ya ain't scarin' me."

"Wrong answer."

"Fine. Fine, okay?"

"Romeo! Stop wasting time and get to the point!" In annoyance, I stomped my foot against the floor, the immaturity of which I immediately regretted.

The corners of Romeo's mouth twitched upwards. Clearly, he had found my momentary childishness more amusing than I had. But in a moment, the expression was gone, and Romeo's eyes locked onto mine. "Rhythm, are you sure?"

"Yes."

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